


When Wings Will Soar

by TruthandLies



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Carnival, Destiny vs choice, Evie's a witch, F/F, Fire Magic, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruthandLies/pseuds/TruthandLies
Summary: Mal stared into the starless heavens. "Did you know I have magic, E?"Mal is fading, losing herself to the rules and flashing lights restraining Auradon royalty. The moment she takes on the title of Lady, she is forced to give up half of herself. Her magic. Her Isle-born fight. She wilts in her new role, becoming a shadow of herself.In her determination to reach her best friend, Evie is forced to accept a long-buried truth: She, too, has relinquished parts of herself. If she is to reconnect with Mal, she must first reconnect with Evie: the girl with the love for knowledge; the girl with the flare for mischief; the girl who is, who has always been, a witch.Magic is all but forbidden in Auradon.But magic is Choice. And if Evie and Mal are to reclaim themselves, they must begin making their own choices. Even if it means upsetting those in power and stepping together into a world unknown.





	When Wings Will Soar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FBiosca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FBiosca/gifts).



>   
> 
> 
> * * *

There are secrets in the stars.

Secrets winking at Evie from the world’s veil of midnight.

She sits atop her windowsill, her sapphire nightgown bunched around her hips. Dangling her bare legs over the sill’s edge, she lifts her finger toward the brilliant specks of light.

There are secrets in Evie’s finger, too. Secrets pulsing beneath her skin.

Secrets she’s told no one. Not even Mal, whose dragon-soft snores flutter through their room.

Evie tells her secrets each night to the stars. “Did you know my mother is a witch?” she whispers, tracing their fiery light with her fingertip. “Did you know that I’m one, too?”

The stars wink in response, a star-studded audience of co-conspirators. They wink, too, when Evie calls upon her ancestry, closing her eyes and seeking out the magic pulsing through her blood.

Her mother was mistress of camouflage. She could cloak herself into the scariest of witches, the most lethal of sorceresses.

Evie is mistress of wishes, with the power to cloak the world’s objects into something Other. A sapphire spark of power pulses inside her heart, thrumming with warmth. She reaches inside, embracing the sapphire glow. And pushes it outward, wishing the stars into fire flowers.

When she opens her eyes, she discovers an infinite expanse of silver spirals, bursting outward into silver sparks. Fire flowers. Flowers like lightning.

The stars still exist beneath the disguise.

And Evie still exists beneath the veil of her magic.

She wasn’t supposed to explore her magic. Wasn’t supposed to explore herself.

Three months ago, before Mal ran to the Isle and Evie ran after, she’d convinced herself she was content being Evie-in-halves. Half-a-girl, who embraced everything Auradon, but neglected everything Isle.

In a way, it made sense.

Auradon was breathtaking. A landscape of color. A world of delight.

Isle was breath-robbing. An abyss of grey. A world of pain.

But even in the Isle’s dismal cracks, there existed the thrum of something real. Something precious. Evie’s past.

And in that past, back through generations of her family, there was magic.

On the night of their return to Auradon, Evie watched Mal give up her magic. Standing aboard a ship next to her true love, she relinquished her book of spells so she might be Lady Mal. 

Lady Mal, who was vibrant in dresses crafted from purple leather, but who wilted within days beneath the kingdom’s many rules and flashing lights, fading into royalty the way a caterpillar might crumble before ever becoming a creature with wings.

She had a dragon’s wild heart, and each time Auradon attempted to chain her in the role of Lady, Mal’s fierce life force dimmed.

One night, Evie found Mal on a deck edging the school’s forest. Her face was as pale as the moon-hidden-behind-the-clouds, her eyes as dull. Gone was the dragon-fire green. Gone was the spark of life.

Mal stared into the starless heavens. “Did you know I have magic, E?”

“Sure.” Evie slid onto the bench beside her, placing her hand atop her best friend’s. Willling warmth into Mal’s too-cold skin. “You transformed into a dragon in front of the entire school, remember?”

“Hard to forget.” Mal’s lips flared into a smile. But then her smile faded. “That’s not what I mean, though. I…” She sighed and stretched out her fingers. “Look.”

“Look at wh – ohh.” Evie gasped.

Mal’s fingertips sparked and flared with flame.

Crimson wisps shaped like dragon wings danced along Mal’s skin. “I thought it was just the dragon,” she whispered, threading the wings through her fingers. “But one night, Ben took me to a royal ball. And it was just too much, you know? The reporters and the cameras and all those curtsies and royal rules.”

“So what happened?” Evie’s voice was quieter than the wind humming through the trees.

Mal lifted her hand, giving the crimson wings the appearance of flight. “Everything was closing in on me. I felt trapped. And then things got hot. I escaped outside just before my hands burst into flame.” She twirled her fingers, gifting her flames with more opportunities to fly. They lifted from her hands, then fluttered back down again. A waltz of fire. “Turns out, I wasn’t the only one feeling trapped. My magic was, too.”

Evie's breath was captive to her throat. “It’s beautiful.” _You’re beautiful._ Without thought, Evie touched her fingertip to one of Mal’s fire wings. It caressed her skin, offering warmth. “This is amazing, M.”

A spark of fire gleamed within Mal’s eyes, as if one of her flames lived within the emerald.

But the spark dimmed and disappeared, leaving her eyes dark.

“Yeah.” Mal swallowed. “Not that I’m allowed to use magic.” She snapped her fingers, and the crimson wings faded. “I’m a lady of Auradon, Evie. And magic isn’t allowed in Auradon.”

“But you’re Mal of the Isle, too.” Evie traced her finger beneath Mal’s eye, wishing for the spark. It did not rekindle. “You can’t give up half of yourself.”

Mal fingered Ben’s crested ring, rough upon her finger. “I already have.”

There was something so broken in her voice, something so _not_ Mal, the Isle girl who made her own rules and fought anyone who crossed her, that Evie found herself curling Mal into her arms, snuggling Mal against her chest. “You may have forgotten half-of-Mal,” she whispered, nuzzling Mal’s purple-fire hair, “but I never will.”

Mal melted into Evie’s embrace. “Don’t let go, E.” She breathed in deep, as if anchoring herself in Evie’s scent. “At least for a few more minutes.”

“I’ll never let you go, M. Not ever.”

After that night, they splintered.

Lady Mal was swept away by her king to the kingdom’s royal balls and fancy dinners, where she faded into a specter: a pale-ghost girl who haunted the kingdom’s ballrooms with plastic smiles and vacant eyes. Eyes devoid of life.

Sometimes, she’d sneak into their room when Evie was tucked in her sheets. She’d tiptoe to her bed, not glancing at Evie. Not until she was a ghost beneath her comforter, and her eyes were dark circles set into a death-pale face. “E?” she’d whisper.

“I’m here, M,” Evie always whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And she forced herself to stare into Mal’s lifeless eyes until they slipped closed and Mal slipped into a restless sleep.

Once, Evie caught Mal before she slipped beneath her comforter. A night when Mal stood at the window, staring out at the starless veil of night. Her shoulders sagged, leaden with all the world’s weight.

“M?” Evie tiptoed across the floor, too afraid to make a sound. _Because if I make one, it might spook my ghost-girl. And then she might disappear for good._ “What’s happened?”

Mal sighed. “My magic erupted tonight.” She traced a fingertip across the glass, as if searching for the missing stars. “Ben saw it.”

“Oh, M. What did he do?”

Mal’s fingers curled, forming a fist against the window. “I’ve never seen him angry before, E. Not like he was tonight.”

Evie’s fingers formed fists, too. Fists that trembled. “What did he say to you?”  
_  
_ “He gave me an ultimatum.” She clenched her fingers so tight, her knuckles turned white. “Magic. Or him.”

“And what about you?” Evie’s words were explosive. As explosive as her breath. “Where do you figure in?”

Mal might have been many things. Auradon’s lady. A girl from the Isle. A girl from Auradon, too.

But she would always be half-fae. She would always possess magic. She would always be Mal. 

“He’s my true love.” Mal’s voice was a specter of sound, a phantom of pain. “Isn’t he?”

A half-answer from a half-girl. Nothing about herself. Everything about someone else.

Maleficent had trained her daughter well. Taught her that she didn’t count. Not until she pleased the people in power.

“Maybe.” Evie slid her chin onto Mal’s shoulder, drawing this half-girl back against her chest. Fitting their bodies together to form two wholes. “Or maybe true love is just something Auradon wants us to believe. Another method of control.”

“What do you mean?” Mal snuggled into Evie’s curves.

“Think about it, M.” Evie smoothed her lips against Mal’s ear, smiling when Mal shivered. “Magic is about freedom. The freedom to tap into our own power. True love is the opposite.” She caressed Mal’s waist. “It means giving our power over to somone else, all in the name of destiny. Where is our choice? Where is yours?”

Silence fell, an invisible veil.

Mal shifted in Evie’s arms. “I’ve never really had a choice.”

“You do now,” Evie whispered. “Make one with me.”

Mal traced her fingers along Evie’s arm. “What choice should I make?”

“That’s up to you.”

A spark of light shone against the sky. Auradon’s North Star, brilliant in a skyward world once dark and devoid of life.

But Mal’s choices remained relinquished.

* * *

After that night, Evie’s words to Mal acted as a summons to her own heart.

Because she’d given up her choices, too. Given them to her mother, who lost them in the reflection of her own loveless greed. A greed that forced Evie into the servitude of vanity so that she would one day become not Evie, full-and-full, but the half-girl “Fair Enough to Land Herself a Prince.”

She’d given her choices to Auradon, too. Worn them in the princess dresses she flaunted down the hallways – the dresses crafted from kingdom silk, never from Isle leather. Worn them in the princess grins she offered to the Auradonians – grins missing her Isle devilry. Given them away every time she pretended she was all Auradon, nothing Isle.

Given them away, too, when she ignored the pulse of magic thrumming through her blood, knowing that in Auradon, magic was next to forbidden.

But choice is a funny creature: It never dies. Even when its heart is torn, or ripped from its ever-spiraling center, it can always regrow another. And that heart can always thrum with new life.

If Evie was to convince Mal of Choice, she had to coax her own choices back to life.

She resurrected Choice in the dusty basement of the library, where spiders scuttled along the walls and deadened shafts of light poked from high-set windows, breaking into splinters that never reached the floor.

The basement was forbidden to students, the door barricaded by heavy boxes of books. Boxes also full of creatures which slipped inside the crevices of cardboard, finding themselves a dark home where they could scratch and squeak. 

Evie shivered, wrapped in her leather jacket. _Feels like home._

Somehow, in this world of Auradon, she had found herself a piece of Isle. Dark. Forbidden. Full of creatures she could not see, but which lurked in hidden crevices, preparing to pounce.

_But Isle will always be a part of me._ She slid her fingers through her hair, anchoring herself. _And I’ve faced a lot worse than creatures in boxes. I can do this._

A box moved. 

Her stomach plunged. She froze, gripping her hair so tight, her scalp screamed.

Then she sighed. _Get it together, Evie. If they bite...just bite back._ Shuddering on a breath, she hopped over the box. And scoured the room for the oldest carboard. The boxes blackened by age.

These boxes lurked in the darkest corner, where even the high-set windows failed to shine their broken shafts of light.

Evie waded through heaps of squeaking cardboard and fell to her knees before the pile of boxes.

She tore open one box, and then another. She discovered dilapidated books and print too faint to read. And then, in a box where something squeaked inside, she discovered treasure.

She tore open the top of this box, and a white mouse hopped from its depths, scurrying into a distant corner.

Her breath stuck like fresh ice. But not because of the mouse. Because of the contents inside the box.

Here was a leather tome, upon which was scrawled in gold JOURNAL OF WITCHES.

An electrical current thrummed beneath her skin. A static whisper, a promise of power.

She touched the book’s cover, tracing the golden type beneath her fingertip.

The current sparked. Her magic was alive.

She flipped open the cover, and an ancient language called out to her. The language of the arcane. The language of the witches.

A language indecipherable, impossible to read. She flipped page after page, but each was written in the same ancient text. A text she did not know.

She closed her eyes and sighed. _How am I ever gonna learn about my magic if all I find are books written in a language I can’t read?_

Even her magic seemed to mock her. It flared with heat, biting into her skin. Almost as if it was trying to escape.

She forced a breath, trying to control her magic. To stop it from hurting. _Stop biting at me and help me decipher this damn book._ She opened her eyes to glare at the text.

The text started to move. The words spiraled and swam, blurring on the page. Taking on a new shape. Rewriting themselves into a different language.

Evie’s language.

The words scrawled across the yellowed parchment, one letter after another. _Tell me, witch. Why should you have the power to read me?_

Evie gasped. Tugging the book from the box, she set it upon her lap. “Because I’m trying to figure out who I am. And this is the best way I know how.”

The book trembled. And glowed with warmth. More words scrawled themselves across the page. _Interesting. And if I should help you, what promise will you make me?_

Evie slid her fingers along the page. “Um…I can promise…” _What? What do I have to give a book?_

She’d always avoided books. Her mother had taught her that princes valued beauty – not learning. 

And then she came to Auradon. _And I realized how much I love knowledge._

Her fingers stilled along the page’s crease. “I can promise to always value knowledge. And learning. Because it’s part of who I am.”

The book shuddered. _Then if you promise to value my lessons, I’ll offer my first. Know this, nascent witch: To work your magic is to believe in yourself. To believe in yourself is to work your magic. One cannot exist without the other. They are forever entwined. You are what you create._

__“Thank you.” The words tasted like ancient dust.

_Now make your wish, be it good. Or be it bad._  
  
She knew these words. They were a lesson etched deep into her soul. 

She was her magic. Her magic was her. Forever entwined.  
_  
_ All she had to do was wish.

Her mother had wished once. She’d wished to be fairest in the land. She’d held her wish so dear, she’d nearly cut the still-beating heart from a young girl’s chest. She’d poisoned that same girl with apples, plunging her into the sleep of eternal death.

So here again, there was a choice. Evie could wish for things crafted from the darkest of hatred. Things fashioned from the vilest of cruelty. She could make herself a princess. A queen. Even if it meant hurting other people.

_But what I really want is light._ She placed the book back in the box and staggered to her feet, squinting against the darkness of the basement. _What I really want is to see the stars._

Dust motes floated through the shafts of light. They winked and danced, like stars made from dust.

Evie closed her eyes and called upon her magic, that electric thrum sparking in her blood. It was chaos. Pinpricks of heat biting at her skin. But she breathed in stale basement air, breathed it deep, and wished for the stars.

The dust motes shifted between dust and light, darkness and luminosity. Back and forth, back and forth. Stars. Not stars. Stars. Not stars.

But close enough.

A thrill coursed through Evie’s chest, a flare of freedom. _So this is my choice. I choose magic. I choose good. I choose me._

Each afternoon, she crept back into the basement, sitting on the floor to read the journal. The white mouse who’d hopped from her box scuttled closer, sniffing at her knee. She fed him bits of cheese as she asked the book questions and read the answers, devouring the knowledge of witches before her.

“My magic hurts,” she told the journal. “What do I do?”

_Your magic may bite. You must learn not to fear it, nor to harbor any negative emotions. Teach it that you are mistress of your own craft._

__Evie channeled all of her positive emotions, drawing upon her feelings for her friends, for her schoolwork. Her love for Mal.

Her magic stopped biting so hard. And the dust motes stopped flickering between darkness and light, becoming luminous stars. Stars which lit up the dark basement, turning it into a night brilliant with fire.

Evie flipped a page in the journal. “What are your thoughts on destiny?”

_There are those who will claim destiny is magic. Really, we are magic. It exists inside each of us, inside our own unique traits. Honor your individuality, dear witch, and you embrace the greatest power in the world._

__Evie stared out at her basement full of stars. And wished them into crimson wings.

They shifted and blurred. And then flared into tiny dragon wings, fluttering through the air. Paying homage to the girl more unique than any she knew: her fading fairy. Her Mal.

The girl she was losing to a world without choice.

* * *

Sometimes, Evie came back from the basement so late, Mal was already tucked into her sheets, her eyes closed to sleep.

And Evie never told Mal about her journeys in the basement. Even though she so desperately wanted her to know.

Because Mal was and is half-Mal, and Evie doesn’t know what to expect from this shadow girl who’s given up her own magic to please the king of Auradon.

Tonight, Evie sits atop her windowsill, staring out at the stars. Watching them spiral into fire flowers. Listening to Mal’s dragon-soft snores.

Mal is asleep. Lost to the world of dreams in slumber the way she’s lost to the world of Auradon awake.

Evie longs for her best friend. For the girl she was before she chose the title. For the girl she was before she gave up half herself.

Sometimes, Evie pretends she is still Mal, full-and-full. That as she sleeps, she is the girl who grew up on the Isle, fists and iron-feet. 

Sometimes, Evie tiptoes to the side of Mal’s bed. And perches atop Mal’s mattress, willing her magic to cloak her presence. Anything to get closer to this girl she misses so much.

Sometimes becomes tonight. Tonight, she shuffles across the floor, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. She slides onto the edge of Mal’s bed, cloaking herself in her magic.

And finds Mal’s skin fairy-kissed. 

It glows in the electric flash of fire flowers streaking through the sky, sending silver light cascading through the shadows of their room.

As if this girl who possesses the gift of dragon flame has harnessed its eternal power, even as she sleeps, and is stepping now through the fire of her dreams. 

Perhaps she’s dancing through a fire circle within a distant dreamscape. And the fire of that circle is heating her skin, warming it for Evie’s touch.

Evie scoots closer, her nightshirt tucked around her hips, watching her best friend’s breath dip and deepen, heated as if fire-blessed. 

Heated like her skin, warm beneath the tips of Evie’s fingers. Fingers she traces along the ridge of Mal’s cheek, savoring the softness.

On the Isle, Mal would spring from sleep the moment an intruder pushed into her space.

In Auradon, the situation is different. Mal is protected by so many different forces. The Isle barrier. The lock on their door. Evie. Her fire magic.

And she is a shadow of the fighting girl. She is a shell of herself. So, of course, she slumbers. Because shadows and shells are half-formed creatures which do not wake.

There are so many things Evie wants to whisper. So many things she needs Mal to hear.

_I’ve been working on my magic._ She slides her touch to Mal’s jaw, which is a contradication of soft and strong, like Mal. _Did you know?_ _It turns out I’m a witch, like my mom._

__Evie’s magic is a whisper of power, winding through her veins. An echo of possibility. A murmur of chaos.

She breathes in deep, pushing into her power supply. Sending it out in a spark of static, which pricks and bites at her skin. 

She smooths her finger along Mal’s face, falling into the warmth she feels for her best friend. Her magic cools and stops biting. Cloaking her presence. Keeping her finger’s touch along Mal’s jaw a secret. Camoflauged by the invisible shield between them both. _The space between._

__Mal does not awaken. And so she does not hear Evie’s next secret.

“I want to touch you all the time, M.” Evie dares to whisper this secret aloud, just as she dares to touch the silk of Mal’s waves. “I want _you_ all the time. Mal. Full-and-full.”

Mal murmurs in her dreams, a senseless rhythm of vowels. Almost as if she is speaking in riddles, in codes, to the fire fairies that inhabit the realm of sleep.

Evie twines a strand of Mal’s hair around her finger. “I miss you, M. So much. Please come back to me.”

Mal startles in her sleep. And then, as if an inhabitant of her dreams has alerted her to Evie’s presence, she flutters her eyelids. Opens her eyes. And catches Evie’s hand.

Their gazes lock in the silver flash of light. Mal’s eyes gleam molten. Gleam so warm, her gaze melts into Evie, a liquid wave of warmth. 

“Hey,” Evie whispers, her fingers still tangled in Mal’s hair.

Mal leans toward Evie’s touch. “It’s late, E. Sleep with me tonight?”

Evie’s heartbeat crashes like thunder. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.” Mal pulses her fingers around Evie’s hand.

And so Evie curls up beside Mal. 

And Mal curls up beside Evie, her head nuzzled beneath Evie’s chin. “I’m starting to make choices, Evie.” She slides her fingers along Evie’s waist. “This is my first one.”

“What do you mean?” It isn’t a whisper. It’s barely a breath, fiery against Evie’s throat.

It also goes unanswered. Because Mal has already fallen back into the realm of dreams, kept safe by her fellow fire fairies.

Kept safe also by the witch who cloaks her in her arms, holding her tight as the stars shine bright against the sky.

Evie hopes that if Mal is making a choice, it’s one she intends to make. One that hasn’t been influenced by the magic dancing across Evie’s skin.

* * *

Mal disappears the next morning before Evie can ask what she meant. What choice was she making? And why do her words kindle Evie’s heart with fire, then crytalize that fire into shards of ice?

Mal made a choice in Evie’s arms. Which makes it seem as though Evie is her choice. Just as she has always been Evie’s.

Was that why Mal curled up in Evie’s embrace? Why she fell asleep, her breath a warm breeze caressing Evie’s throat?

Before Mal made her choice, Evie cast her magic. Wished for her best friend to come back to her. Wished she could touch Mal. Wished Mal was hers.

_What if I forced Mal into her choice?_ Evie rushes through the halls, where early morning light streams in through windows, striking banners which advertise the school’s upcoming Firelight Festival. _Whatever choice that was._

__She pushes through the double library doors, then turns toward the stairs for the basement. _What if, by casting magic, I’m hurting people?_ She thunders down the basement stairs. Tosses open the rickety door. _What if I’m becoming my mother?_

__Evie’s magic is camouflage. It cloaks Things That Are – like dust motes and stars – into Things That May Be – like galaxies of light twinkling inside dusty basements, and silver fire flowers spinning through the sky. Does that mean it also cloaks feelings? That it turns Feelings That Are into Feelings That Are Not?

Evie refuses to be Destiny. She refuses to rob Mal of choice.

She takes refuge with her tiny white mouse, amidst the dust motes floating through the basement, where she seeks words from witches of the past. 

Her mouse nibbles on a gift of cheese.

And Evie flips open the _Journal of Witches_. “My best friend made a choice last night. I’m afraid I forced her into it with my magic. Tell me I didn’t.”

She fumbles onto a page, ear-marked and well-worn.

Words scrawl across the paper in silver ink.

_Magic is many things. Our strength. Our gift. Our fortress. Even such, you must not use it to control the actions of others. Listen well: An’ you harm none, do as you will._

__Evie traces the final eight words with her fingertip. “An’ you harm none, do as you will…” It makes so much sense. “But how do I make sure I’m not using my magic to control the actions of others?”

She flips a page. And another. And a third. But none of them answer her question. None of them bestow upon her the secret knowledge she needs to protect her best friend’s heart.

She gazes at her friend the mouse, who gazes back through eyes glinting silver. 

Here in this dusty basement, beneath the streets of Auradon, she’s discovered magic. She’s discovered herself. And, wrapped in her studded leather jacket, a creature squeaking by her knee, she’s rediscovered something Isle, too.

She scratches the top of her mouse’s head, behind his thin pink ears.

The creature shuts his eyes and squeaks.  
_  
_ “I’ll just have to protect Mal’s heart myself. I will not harm her – or anyone else – with my magic.”Evie moves to close the book.

But not before she glimpses the silver writing: _Now you’re thinking like a witch.  
_

* * *

Her steps bouncier after glimpsing those final words, Evie steps from the basement and strides down afternoon hallways bright with sunlight and empty of students. 

School is out today, the Friday before the grounds transform in celebration of fire. Banners flutter from every hallway threshold, painted with flickering flames and promising A CELEBRATION OF THE ELEMENTAL WORLD.

Evie sighs and focuses on the magic sparking beneath her skin. It is wonder. And chaos. And Everything Her.

The elemental world is many things, too. Wonderous in its gifts to mortals. Chaotic in its clash of disaster. Everything Outside of Her. Everything outside of them all.

Worthy of celebration.

But a hollow ache carves itself into Evie’s heart. Because isn’t magic worthy of celebration, too? This gift pulsing with life through Evie’s blood, that is unique to her heritage, unique to herself? The gift so many people possess, unique in their own right, that is treated in Auradon not with celebration, but with shame?

(This gift possessed by her best friend, too, which, taken away, has forced her to turn away from herself.)

Voices drift down the hall, hushed and familiar. 

Evie takes a few steps toward the sound.

And discovers Ben and Mal huddled against a sunlit window, whispering in hisses.

Evie’s hollowed heart slips to her toes. She should turn away, leave them to themselves.

But there’s something about the way Ben frowns, about the liquid sheen of his eyes, about the frantic motions of his hands.

And there’s something about the way Mal’s shoulders are straighter than Evie’s seen them in weeks. No longer bowed. No longer wilting.

Evie’s heart skips up into her throat. _Mal’s made a choice. Maybe…_

Before the thought can fully form, Ben touches Mal’s face. Mal melts into his touch. And then they are hugging.

Evie’s heart disintegrates. _I was wrong._ She touches her trembling hand to her cheek. _I wasn’t her choice._

Her eyes prickle and sting. But she blinks away the pain. _At least I didn’t use my magic to influence Mal. To hurt her._

_I am not my mother._  
  
Mal slips from Ben’s arms and walks down the hall, away from him. And away from Evie.

Ben bows his head, leaning his forehead against the windowpane. His shoulders sag.

Whatever has happened, something has changed. And Evie finds herself stepping up to Ben, eager to comfort. Maybe eager to teach. Definitely eager to help Mal.

She curls her fingers around his shoulder, keeping them there even when he startles. “You can’t turn her into something she isn’t,” she whispers, squeezing. “You can’t take away her choices, Ben. Or her magic. They’re a part of her.” _Believe me. I know._

Ben sighs. “I get it,” he murmurs. “But I can’t change myself, either. I am who I am.” He cups Evie’s hand.

* * *

After she leaves Ben to his thoughts, Evie moves in the direction Mal took, stepping from the hallway’s shadows into a courtyard of sunlight. She tilts back her head, lifting her face to the sun. Smiles when it dances warmth across her cheeks.

Mal may not have chosen her. But Evie’s chosen herself.

_So this is it._ She’s herself. An Auradon girl. An Isle girl, too. A fashionista. A science whiz. A witch. _Me._ She stretches her arms and twirls, dancing through the world of light. _Always me._

__Someone clears their throat.

“Hey, Eves.” Jay’s voice is gruff and touched with whispers of laughter. “When you’re done dancing, want to join us in a water fight? Victory goes to the least soaked.”

There’s a click and a swish.

Evie opens her eyes. __  
  
Jay stands with a high-pressure water pistol knocked back against his shoulder, a wicked smirk sending silver through his narrowed-I’m-gonna-win-this-war eyes. “What d’ya say?” He quirks his head at an arsenal of water pistols, each gleaming beneath the sunlit sky.

And behind those pistols stand four others: Carlos, who harnesses two smaller pistols in his pockets and clutches a larger one in both fists; Lonnie, who tosses her hair over her shoulder and chooses a pistol as big as her arm; wide-eyed Jane, who palms two basic squirters and tucks herself into Lonnie’s side; and Mal, who clenches a super soaker as if it is a sword.

“We’re doing teams, E. You wanna be on mine?” Mal’s eyes gleam like emerald fire.

Gone is the fading fairy.

Gone is the wilted girl.

In their place stands Mal, the girl who loves to fight.

_There you are._ Laughter bubbles from Evie’s lips. “I don’t know, M. You promise we won’t get soaked?”

“I promise I won’t.” She winks and pumps her pistol, making the water swish.

Evie tilts her head and captures Mal’s gaze, deciphering all the words left unspoken. _I’ve got your back_ and _This’ll be fun_ and _I’m ready to be Mal again._

__So this is Mal’s choice.

It’s all Evie needs to know.

She launches herself at the arsenal. Stuffs two squirters into the pockets of her jacket. Slips a thin blaster into the back pocket of her jeans. And slides her hands around a gigantic super soaker capable of carrying a small swimming pool. “I’m ready,” she says, pumping her water weapon.

Mal hoots. “My partner’s packing heat.” She raises a fist.

Evie knocks her knuckles. “You sure about this, Jay?” She leans close to Mal, bumping hips with the girl she’s missed, the girl whose presence fills her heart with fire. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Jay lifts his soaker to his lips. “You’re right.” He blows across the top. “It doesn’t.” His eyes flash and, with a feral cry, he pumps his pistol. “Let the games commence!”

Jay shoots a stream of water at Mal and Evie. 

And Evie’s powers break loose in a cataclysmic wish. _Don’t let Mal lose this fight before she’s even started._ It pulses beneath her skin, rushing outward in a force of energy. A force that ripples like a heat wave. 

Mal clenches Evie’s arm. They topple to the ground.

Jay’s water strikes the ripple of Evie’s magic, sails over the top and splashes at Carlos’ feet, soaking his shoes.

“Hey.” Carlos jumps away from the splash. “I’m your partner, man. You’re not supposed to soak me.”

“I didn’t think I did.” Jay’s voice is dulled with an edge of doubt.

There’s another click, as if he’s pumping his weapon.

Mal and Evie crawl backward, behind a dry stone fountain. Hidden from the enemy.

Mal leans back against the fountain’s edge. And stares at Evie, her eyes glinting with something that makes Evie’s stomach twist. “That was interesting,” she whispers, clutching her pistol to her chest. “I don’t know how we didn’t get soaked.”

There’s a flicker of fire in her words, perhaps kindled by the knowing look sparking through her eyes.

Evie does not break her stare. Because if Mal is ready to hear, to know Evie not in halves but in fulls, then Evie’s ready to share. “I have some secrets.”

“Do you now?” Mal tilts her head.

Evie swallows her heartbeat from her throat. And nods.

Mal touches Evie’s hand. “Can’t wait to hear them. But first, let’s trounce these guys.” She quirks her head toward the boys.

The thought of sharing her secrets with Mal is heady, breathtaking.

But the thought of trouncing Jay makes Evie grin a devil’s grin. “Deal,” she says, Isle menace sparking through her voice.

“One.” Mal lifts her pistol, tipping its muzzle toward the fountain’s lip.

“Two.” Evie plucks her super soaker from her lap and pumps.

“Three.” They cry the word out together, then twist to face the fountain, finding the other four over the top.

Jay stands with his weapon aimed.

Carlos stands beside him, his squirters cocked.

Lonnie and Jane hide behind a nearby tree, back-to-back, their pistols poised.

“Attack,” Mal cries. 

With the fountain as their shield, they fire their weapons at Carlos and Jay.

The boys cry out and attempt to evade, squirting back. 

But their aim is wide. 

And Mal and Evie’s aim is lethal. Mal soaks Jay’s shirt, and then his pants, while beside her, Evie soaks Carlos’ face and his hair, plastering his blond-and-black to his cheeks.

Lonnie and Jane burst out from behind their tree, showering the boys with their own pistols. And then, when Mal and Evie launch upward from behind their fountain, they try to soak them, too.

But Evie pulls her blaster from her pocket and plunges her hand against the trigger, shooting a stream of water toward the girls. It soaks Jane’s face and Lonnie’s shirt.

Lonnie laughs and fires again at Evie and at Mal. 

This time, the water splashes into Evie’s face, soaking her hair. She pulls her squirters from her pockets and showers Jane with water.

“Okay, okay.” Jane holds up her hands. “I give.”

Evie aims her squirters toward the sky. “Do you want to call a truce? Or should we continue soaking?”

“Forget the truce,” Mal says, lifting her weapon. “This is too much fun.”

But Carlos and Lonnie raise their hands, grinning. And Jay, whose shoulders are heaving with pent-up laughter, raises his hands, too. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. We call a truce.”  
In the end, the other four are more soaked than either Evie or Mal. Which makes them victors.

Heartbeats after the truce, they all six collapse onto the courtyard grass, laying in a pinwheel formation, a circle of friends. 

Jane slides her hand into Lonnie’s and snuggles closer – a new development that has had Auradon whispering in recent days. A new choice neither girl is willing to unmake.

Jay and Carlos poke each other in the ribs, arguing over who let the most shots get through. Neither wins.

And Mal and Evie twist onto their sides, gazing into each other’s eyes.

The spark in Mal’s eyes has rekindled into fire. “My second choice,” she whispers, stroking a damp finger along Evie’s cheek, “is this.”

Evie flutters her eyelids, savoring Mal’s touch. _What is this, M?_

__The question remains hidden, trapped within her throat.

She’s not ready for the answer yet.

Not when the world feels like freedom.

Not when Mal is finally Mal.

A sunlit smile peeks its way onto Mal’s face. 

A smile unlike any that has dared emerge in the storm that has become Mal’s life.

_She’ll tell me her choice. When she’s ready._ Evie cups Mal’s hand, holding it to her face. _Until then, I’m going to dedicate myself to making her smile._

__

* * *

The next morning, Mal disappears before Evie wakes. Their room is early-morning-sunlight-shadows and rumpled-comforters and kicked-aside-sheets. It is the scent-of-strawberries-and-dragon-smoke and the taste-of-secrets-still-burning-upon-Evie’s-tongue. It is shapeless without Mal, a room without form.

Evie goes through her routine. Dresses in leather pants and her studded leather jacket, with a silk shirt from an Auradon shop nestled beneath her jacket collar. She steps through a hallway of chaos, where kids are rushing off for breakfast before the school’s firelight festival.

She meets the boys in the dining hall. Watches Carlos create the leaning tower of pancakes.

But Mal does not make an appearance.

Evie forks a bit of pancake. Shakes it loose. Forks it again. Shakes it free. “Have either of you seen Mal?” she asks the boys.

Carlos upends a bottle of syrup over his pancakes, leaving his tower dripping with sticky brown goo. “Nope.” He swipes his tongue across the syrupy droplets.

Jay points his fork at Carlos. “You learn that trick from Dude?”

Dude pokes his head over the top of the table. “Hey, don’t associate me with the animal over there. My eating habits are much more classy.”

Evie drops her fork onto her plate. “Guys? Mal?”

“I saw her going off with Ben kind of early this morning.” Lonnie plops into a seat.

Jane plops down beside her. “It looked serious.” She fiddles with her fingers. “Um, I – I think Mal might have been crying. Ben, too.”

Jay freezes with a forkful of pancake lifted to his mouth. “But Mal doesn’t cry.”

An ache carves itself into Evie’s heart. If both Ben and Mal are crying… _She’s making another choice._

Evie’s promise to make Mal smile rages full-force.

* * *

The firelight festival spreads across the school grounds in a blaze of trees-lit-up-with-silver-lights and crimson-flames-flickering-atop-golden-torches. Nearby, swings lift off from the ground, carrying squealing kids in high circles. The scent of sugar wafts through the nighttime air, drifting from a line of booths where vendors sell sweet concoctions.

Evie and Mal wind through throngs of chattering kids, walking beneath a twilit sky devoid of stars. The stars are missing from Mal’s eyes, too, the spark of fire that had fanned into flame now a smoky remnant of yesterday’s girl who chose to fight.

But Evie promised to keep Mal smiling.

_And I’m not giving up._ She loops her arm through Mal’s, tugging her to the line for cotton candy. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong, M?”

Mal claims Evie’s gaze, staring into Evie’s eyes as though she has a secret. “Who says something’s wrong, E?”

Evie knows that stare. Knows Mal’s tone of voice. Knows it by the resolve firm around its edges. 

It’s the voice Mal uses when she speaks of things like being wicked and breaking rules.

It’s exactly the kind of voice a girl who knows she has choices would wield.

It dips inside Evie’s chest, playing havoc with her heart. _Tonight. I’ll learn her choices tonight. First, though, she’s gonna smile._

She hands the merchant her money, and accepts a cone topped with a fluffy blue cloud of candy. “Okay,” she says, tearing off a piece. “If you’re not going to confess, then you are hereby ordered to stuff your mouth full of candy.” She pushes the candy at Mal.

Mal sidesteps, wrinkling her nose. “That stuff’s all sugar, E.”

Evie rolls her eyes. “And it’ll make your skin break out. And your insides rot. And turn your teeth to nubs." She grins a grimace of teeth. "You’ll thank me later.” She pushes the candy back at Mal.

Mal’s eyes narrow. “You’re really going to force me to eat this stuff, aren’t you?”

“Yup. I, Evie Grimhilde, have officially appointed myself Destroyer of My Best Friend’s Teeth, Skin and Frown. Here.” She pops the rejected candy into her mouth, swallows the sweet cotton, and tears off a new piece. “You know you want it,” she sing-songs.

Her fingertips brush against Mal’s soft lips.

And Mal sucks back a breath. Her eyes, while dark, are wild and wide. She locks them onto Evie’s. “What if it’s not the cotton candy I want?”

Everything inside Evie goes topsy-turvy. Her heart corkscrews. Her stomach swings to her feet. “You can have anything you want,” she whispers, her voice wrapped in silk. “But for now, take a taste.”

Her gaze still latched onto Evie’s, Mal’s tongue springs to her lips. And slides across Evie’s fingertips. Tasting not the candy, but Evie’s skin.

Heat flickers through Evie’s hand. “Um…”

Mal’s frown transforms into a lopsided smirk. “Oops. I missed.” She transfers her tongue to the candy, shoveling it into her mouth. “Mmm.” She swallows. “You’re right. This is good.”

Their gazes touch for several sprints of Evie’s pulse. 

There’s something new painted across the surface of Mal’s eyes. Something painted in deep greens and vibrant golds. A lens of emotion, enabling her to look into Evie’s heart deeper than she’s ever looked. Deeper than a friend would generally see. 

Two nights ago, Mal made a choice while wrapped in Evie’s arms.

For the last two days, she’s been holding secret meetings with Ben. Meetings that have, both times, ended in tears.

And now she’s tasting Evie’s fingertips.

“M…” Evie slides a strand of purple-fire behind Mal’s ear.

Mal leans into her touch. “We need to talk, Evie. Not here.” She waves her hand at the chaos of kids. “But soon. Tonight.”

“Okay.” The word sticks in Evie’s throat. She holds Mal’s gaze, looking deeper, too. Glimpsing the girl with the lopsided smile. “I won, you know?” She tilts her candy cone, allowing Mal to tear another piece. “Your frown’s halfway gone.”

Mal’s smile horns into a smirk. “Halfway is halfway.” She tears a piece of candy and pops it into her mouth. “You haven’t won yet.”

“Is that so?” Evie’s gaze flicks to a ride behind Mal. A Ferris wheel rising into a sky, which is fading from deep purple to black. If they’re lucky, the stars will soon shine. “Come on, then.” She holds out her hand. 

Mal laces their fingers. “Where are you taking me?”

“On a journey,” she says, swinging their hands. Guiding Mal to the wheel. “Together, we’ll climb into the stars, where we’ll find a world of magic.”

Mal moves her lips, as if whispering something not of resolve, but in a tone matching the gleam within her eyes. The crowd swallows her words with its screams and its cheers.

Even so, Evie swears she reads her lips. And that they form the shapes of promises. 

The carnie tucks them up in a metal carriage swinging at the bottom of the wheel, then flips the switch for a new rotation. The Ferris wheel climbs ever-upward, into a blackening sky dotting itself with tiny pinpricks of light.

Mal has not let go of Evie’s hand. She circles her thumb along the cradle of Evie’s forefinger, and stares out into the fiery landscape. “You know what I don’t understand?”

Evie melts into Mal’s touch. She opens her mouth to speak, but it seems her tongue is melted, too. Finally, she clears her throat. “What?” Her voice is full of husk.

Mal tips her chin at the carnival, at its golden torches and its silver lights. At the team assembling fireworks in a distant corner of the grounds. “If my magic is so terrible, so wicked, then why is it that we’re celebrating fire tonight? What makes my fire any different from the fire that lights those torches?”

The Ferris wheel stops with their carriage dangling at the top, offering them a glimpse of Auradon’s twinkling lights, of the homes that make up the kingdom. 

The lights resemble the stars, Evie’s friends. Companions who have helped her master her own gifts, her own magic. Her life force.

She leans her cheek on Mal’s shoulder. “When Auradon was first created, people were afraid. Magic was something out of their control. It still is.” She kicks her feet as the Ferris wheel begins rotating again, carrying them back to the ground. “But that doesn’t make it bad. Or dangerous. Not if it’s used for good.”

Mal tilts her head atop Evie’s, nuzzling Evie’s forehead. “I’m done hiding, Evie. I’m done ignoring my magic. It’s a part of me. And I’m done being someone I’m not.” Her voice is forged with fire. Solid. Determined.

She’s making the ultimate choice.

“This is a good thing," Evie says. "Because you’re amazing. And I love every part of you.” The words take flight, soaring from Evie’s lips. She can stop them no more than she can stop the magic pulsing through her blood. _I love Mal._

Mal gasps and tightens her hand around Evie’s. “What did you just –”

The Ferris wheel bumps around, jostling them to the ground, where it stops. The carnie unclasps the metal holster keeping them safe. And Mal and Evie tumble out, Evie’s words thrumming between them, as if she’s somehow breathed them to life.

“If I can have your attention please,” a voice booms over some faraway loudspeaker, chasing static through the crowd. “The fireworks show will begin in two minutes. For the optimal viewing experience, find a place close to the lake.”

Kids push in from every direction, shoving Mal and Evie toward the midnight splash of lake water. 

Mal clenches Evie’s hand, keeping her close. 

The words are still alive between them, pulsing with promise. 

But Mal does not look at Evie.

And Evie does not look at Mal.

_Soon._ Evie accepts a sparkler from someone passing them through the crowd. It fizzes in her fist. _Soon, we’ll talk. I’ll learn her choice. I’ll tell her about all of mine._

Mal rests her head on Evie’s shoulder and lifts a sparkler to the sky. “Fire isn’t so bad, is it, E?” Her breath is a fiery spark against Evie’s ear.

Evie shivers. “Nope. Not bad at all.” She swings her sparkler, creating flickers of flame.

“As we begin our night of revelry,” the loudspeaker voice crackles anew, “let us reminisce on what came before. Twenty years ago, villains roamed our lands. It was a time of evil. A time of magic.”

Mal fists her hand around Evie’s, digging her fingers into Evie’s skin.

Evie winces and clenches her teeth. __  
  
“Since that time, most of us have seen the error of our magical ways.” The loudspeaker voice plunges into a sympathetic whisper that sounds more like a hiss. “And discovered that the world has provided without magic. Let us celebrate tonight, dear ones, with this spectacle of non-magical fire.”

Mal must realize she’s gouging Evie’s hand with her nails, because she lets go.

Evie trembles in the chill, in the absence of Mal’s warmth – and the fury crystalizing through her veins.

The first firework pops into the sky, a dazzling streak of crimson which bursts into an explosion of orange.

Evie’s magic sizzles beneath her skin, daring her to strike out. To show the crowd that magic is worth celebrating, too. 

But she clenches her teeth tighter and wills it back. If she were to funnel magic through the skies, perhaps by wishing the fireworks into a rain of fire – or of white mice who fall to Auradon and squeak at the knees of this foolish crowd – then she’d be proving them right. _This isn’t the place. Not yet._

There are more dazzling streaks of crimson. More bursts of orange flame. Joined by glittering green fingers, flaring into sparkling fistfuls of yellow. And brilliant pinwheels of blue flame, which spiral outward into fiery circles of purple sparks.

Evie’s fist trembles around her sparkler, but her lips spasm with a smile. _That’s a Mal-and-Evie firework._ She sends a glance to Mal. __  
  
But Mal has been replaced with someone else. A boy Evie does not recognize.

The smile slides from Evie’s lips. She twirls in a circle, searching for her hidden friend.

Finding only people staring open-mouthed at the sky.

Sparks burst from her sparkler, biting into Evie’s skin. “Ouch.” She drops the sparkler into the lake, where it falls into the dark splash of water.

A chill sinks into Evie’s skin, spreading from her arms toward the ache in her chest made hollow without Mal. Evie wraps herself in her arms, attempting to block the chill.

It only seeps deeper.

Nearby, Carlos and Jay fling out their sparkler-fisted hands and stretch their arms, rushing through the parting crowd like firebirds.

On the edges stands Jane, leaning back into the arms of Lonnie, who tucks Jane’s head beneath her chin while they both gaze at the fire-forged sky.

Evie’s heart pools with warmth, but it does not sooth her Mal-less chill.

So she searches again, this time scanning for the kingdom’s lady upon the blue-and-gold-bannered royal stage. 

A stage where Ben sits atop a wooden throne, his parents on either side. A scepter takes the place of a sparkler in Ben’s fist, but his sky-sent gaze is almost as dazzled as his parents’. His eyes might have gleamed brighter if it weren’t for the frown tucked into his lips.

A frown much like the frown Mal had worn an hour earlier.

After she’d cried with Ben. After she’d approached him the afternoon before by the sunlit windows, her shoulders knocked back, sending the signal that nothing could push her to the ground. Not even Ben, the boy chosen for her by Destiny.

Ben, who sits on a stage not with four thrones – one for each of his parents, for himself, for his lady – but with three. Mal’s throne is not on that stage.

Another signal.

Another choice.

Mal chose to end things with Ben.

The same day she chose to hold Evie’s hand.

A sensation like tiny wings flutters through Evie’s chest. She scans the crowd again for Mal. And discovers people gasping and staring wide-eyed at the spectacle in the sky.

One girl points into the heavens. “Is that…?”

A boy turns pale beneath the firelight. “It’s a dragon. There’s a dragon in the sky.”

Kids screech and scream, pushing together. Ben jumps from his throne, his eyes flashing. Carlos and Jay freeze, their sparklers still outstretched.

And Evie lets her head fall back so she can gaze, line-of-sight unbroken, into the fiery heavens.

A purple dragon soars through the bursts and blooms of fire, touching her wings to the fireworks as if caressing their sparks, paying respects to their flames. She flaps her wings and turns toward the crowd, regarding them through a flash of emerald eyes. And then, with a wild whistle, she opens her mouth and funnels flame through the skies, adding her own magic to the festivities.

It is flame, pure and unbroken in its red-orange stream of light. Not the crimson wings she produces in fairy form, but a dragon’s fire.

Evie’s heart, which had corkscrewed so recently, soars as if with wings. A smile spells itself onto her lips. _There you are._  
  
Mal has made so many choices.

The choice to be herself. A fighter. A fairy. A girl who cherishes freedom.

The choice to stand on her own, even if it means ignoring Destiny.

The choice to stand up against Auradon, to show the world the beauty of her magic.

Now it’s Evie’s turn to make her choice. To embrace her own magic. _Because it’s beautiful, too. And I’m done hiding._  
  
It’s time to soar.

She reaches inside herself for that telltale glow, the one pulsing through her heart. And she sends it outward in a wish, one that honors both herself and her best friend. _Turn Mal’s flames into wings_.

Mal’s stream of dragon fire flares and flickers. Sparks separate from the stream. They glimmer against the light of fireworks. And then, as one, they form tiny crimson wings.

The crowd, whose screams had jabbed at Evie’s thumping eardrums, silences itself. And gasps. 

“It’s gorgeous,” one person whispers, as the wings dance through the sky.

Dragon-Mal does a double-take. She stares first at the crimson wings. And then she throws her stare to Evie, another wild whistle sounding from her throat.

It is a whistle of surprise.

A whistle of understanding.

A whistle of friendship, deep and strong and true.

_Yeah, M._ Evie sends Mal her secret smile. _I’ve got magic, too._

Evie’s magic transforms Mal’s fire. And then it transforms the fireworks. Instead of bursts and blooms, they become tiny multi-colored wings. Non-magic and magic, intertwined at last.

Evie tears her gaze from Mal’s, searching out the king.

He stands with his hands lifted toward the sky, wearing the wisp of a smile. But the smile ghosts into a scowl. And he sets his jaw and waves his hands, as if signaling that Mal should land.

Mal sounds her whistle again, this whistle cornered with melancholy. And then she flaps her wings, soaring from the sky. 

She disappears from her world of fire and lands back on the ground, somewhere within the line of distant trees, her magic once more banished.

Evie needs to get to her.

She shoves through the crowd. 

Past Ben, whose hands have become fists. 

Past Jay and Carlos, who stare wide-eyed at the fading crimson wings. 

Past Lonnie and Jane, who are embracing face-to-face, in full view of the other kids. Not caring about the whispers which surround them.

Such is the beauty of magic: It blurs the lines of possible and impossible, transforming the unimaginable into something real.

_It’s like me and Mal._ Evie strides past the Ferris wheel, where people gaze at the fireworks from the safety of their carriages. _Everything about us is magical._

Two years ago, Evie wondered if she and Mal would ever be friends. 

But they became best friends.

_And then the lines blurred again._ Evie steps from the carnival grounds onto the grass, where the trees stretch ever upward toward the starlit sky. _I didn’t think it was possible for her to look at me the way she did tonight. I could never imagine..._

__But the imaginings, the wandering-touches and the almost-kisses of Evie’s recent reality, fade at the image of something so real, it steals her life’s breath.

Mal stands at the treeline, next to the bench where she’d once confessed her fairy magic.

Tonight, her eyes are ablaze. 

She is a girl transformed. 

She stretches her arms toward the sky. A multitude of crimson wings dance in between her hands. They soar ever-higher, casting their radiance down upon Mal’s face, setting her skin aglow.

“You’re beautiful, M.” Evie’s words are hoarse. “You and your magic.” She closes the distance between them.

Mal’s wings waltz around them both, embracing Evie with their warmth. “Seems I’m not the only one with magic.” Mal reaches out to caress a wing, which had flitted onto Evie’s cheek. “You been keeping secrets, E?”

Her voice is thick, her words alive with meaning. 

The world seems to hear it, too. It blows a new breeze, which lifts a flurry of white puffs. The seeds of dandelions. The seeds of wishes.

Evie nuzzles the palm of Mal’s hand. “I wasn’t sure you were ready to hear them.”

“I’m ready,” Mal whispers.

“Then I’m a witch,” Evie says, and smiles.

“And I’m a fairy.” Mal grins back. “You said you loved everything about me.” Her gaze is deep and bright, so bright beneath the crimson light. “Did you mean as a friend? Or…”

Evie cups Mal’s hand, securing it upon her cheek. “Or.” It is a whisper crafted from the softest of voices, the warmest of emotions. It is everything Evie feels, infused within a single word. _Or._

Mal’s gaze dips from Evie’s, lingers upon her lips, and then rises again to meet Evie’s eyes. “I ended things with Ben, E. But…”

“But?”

She sighs, causing her wings to soar. “Or.” Mal shares her own secret smile, a curve of her lips. “Me, too. Always me, too. For you. But I want to do this right. Which means not rushing into things. Because it’s you, E. And it’s me. It’s us. And I need us to work.”

Evie’s mind is still circling around Mal’s _or._ Before, her heart had lifted as if with Mal’s wings. Now, it seems her entire body is floating. “So we take it slow.” She strokes a strand of purple-fire, sliding it behind Mal’s ear. “Day by day. Choice by choice. We’ll make them together, M.”

Mal swivels her head toward Evie’s palm, which she brushes with her lips. “How do we start?”

_Simple._ Evie steps back, just a single step, and holds out her hand. “Let’s start with a dance,” she says, “and go from there.”

“I think I like this beginning.” Mal slides her hand into Evie’s.

Evie cups their hands to her thundering heart. “Then let’s make it even better, shall we?” She dips inside for her pulse of magic, her spark of energy. And sends out another wish. _Turn the dandelion seeds into stars._

The white puffs blink. And shine. And radiate with silver light, transforming into stars. Together with Mal’s crimson wings, they turn the ground into sky.

Mal gasps and pulses her fingers around Evie’s hand.

“Dance with me into the stars, M?” Evie whispers against Mal’s purple-fire hair.

“I’ll dance with you anywhere, E.” Mal’s voice is throaty and deep. “You were my very first choice.”


End file.
